


may i have this dance

by Anonymous



Series: les petits princes et leurs petit ami [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coming Out, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Secrets between friends are the best secrets.





	may i have this dance

**Author's Note:**

> written for the blackhawks fic fest 2017.
> 
> prompt: first (gay) kiss
> 
> background: the american revolution birthed a new monarchy, and princess anastasia returned to lead the russian empire.

Grandfather always speaks highly of their country's relations with the United States. Artemi listens for the necessary things, but he is far too young and feels the weight of the world fall upon him. In those moments he escapes his security detail to find somewhere to be alone. Usually in the garden. He's sure his personal guard knows where he is hiding, but Malkin is nice enough to give him the space. 

The American royal family are visiting on this occasion, so Artemi takes a deep breath and prepares for dinner. Grandfather is arguing over some unauthorized oil drilling in a disputed territory off the coast of Alaska. It usually gets heated with the American King. Grandfather had a better relationship with King Donald before he stepped down and crowned his son, King Patrick I. Grandfather often criticizes the current king, saying that Artemi at age nine would make a better world leader. Artemi is forbidden from repeating anything grandfather says in private, but he can't resist laughing when his stern words come with a wink. 

Dinners with the American royal family are the worst. Grandmother expects him to be absolutely proper. His back practically spasms with how straight he has to sit. It ruins his ability to enjoy his meal, having to take smaller bites on smaller portions and forfeiting seconds. Thankfully he's never asked to speak and prove just how awful his English lessons is coming along. The King's two eldest daughters are idly chatting among themselves while his son, Patrick, smiles to himself about their conversation, Artemi assumes. He understands what they are saying, seeing as they are young and their words aren't very advanced, but he doesn't find it as amusing as the prince. 

They’ve had many dinners like these over the years. They bleed together. But the friendliness between the royal family is something that sticks with Artemi. Even when he was a crowned prince, King Patrick I would bring his whole family. They'd politely wait while the Queen put down whoever their youngest was at the time before proceeding with dinner. Some dinners included reporters, who'd watch and photograph how positively the negotiations were seemingly going. While some of the photos were posed for, it never felt forced on their part. The First Family, as they were called by their country, were truly that – a family.  

Sometimes he eats his dinner and waits patiently until he's dismissed by his grandmother. Other nights, like tonight, he watches them and imagines how his own family would be – his father sitting to the left of Grandfather, he and his mother at father's side. Across from Artemi would be his sister occupying the seat next to Grandmother. He imagines them sharing a casual meal, sharing small stories of their day, sharing the same space for more than just a trip. The unfortunate truth is that his mother and father rule the Ukraine, and Artemi is the tsarevich and must be with Grandfather, away from his family, until it is Artemi's turn to take the crown from him. He can't help but envy the Americans. 

Grandfather says his usual pleasantries at the end of the meal and invites the Former King and King Patrick I into his study to smoke a cigarette and drink whiskey. Grandmother accompanies the Queen to make sure the bedtime arrangements are properly handed. But the young prince, instead of following his mother, holds her back to whisper in her ear.  

She turns to Grandmother and asks, "Patrick would like to play with Artemi, if he is willing." 

Artemi is standing by his guard, waiting for the guest to depart the dining room, but he clearly hears his name in the exchange. He looks to his grandmother, who confirms his own rough interpretation. All the while Patrick is watching Artemi, smiling hopefully. It startles him, very unsure as to why now of all times. He frowns, brows drawn together out of confusion, but quickly nods. "Yes, I will," he answers in English.  

Grandmother suggests he takes him to his game room but warns for only an hour because it is late. The boys bow as the ladies depart with their guard. Patrick gives his sisters each a kiss on their forehead and wishes them goodnight. It’s such an fond gesture that it strikes Artemi that he’s never been that affectionate with his own sister. He wishes things could be different. 

Artemi still doesn't understand Patrick’s interest in him, but nonetheless leads them through cold halls of the palace. He doesn't know what to say, choosing silence, not trusting his English to not make things more awkward. Meanwhile Patrick is softly humming to himself, regarding the art that decorates the walls. His wing of the palace takes them through the corridors that pass by the private wings of the tsar and the tsarina. It wouldn’t surprise Artemi if Patrick hasn’t been through this way, seeing as the guest rooms are located in the opposite wing. If it was earlier in the season, they'd cross through the courtyard, but it has gotten far too cold, especially at night.  

The awkward silence between them bothers Artemi, mostly because it doesn't seem to bother Patrick. "This," he vaguely waves his hand around, "Dark Corridor." Patrick acknowledges him with a simple 'ah.' Artemi feels like he's sinking and doesn't want to be the first to speak anymore. 

They finally arrive to his game room, passing by the entrance to his bedroom. The modern luxuries sit in a stark contrast against the rich architecture like an oxymoron. The room began as a library from when it belonged to Grandfather when his father ruled. Artemi's interests have yet to adopt literature, so as grandfather gradually takes some books for his personal library, Artemi fills the empty space with movies and games. His grandmother does not approve, but she rarely approves of anything nontraditional.  

Patrick walks in, taking a closer look at everything while Artemi stands by the door and wishes for Patrick to take the lead somehow. 

Patrick pauses at the window, fingertips on the glass. Separated as they are, Artemi sees the condensation caused by his touch. It's snowing again. "Actually, could we go outside?" There's a smile at the corner of his mouth, waiting to take over. 

"You don't have a coat." Patrick's in a simple button down and pants. Proper attire for indoors, but no one could brave a Russian winter like that. 

"Could I borrow one? You'll need one, too." Artemi can say no, and yet he doesn't. 

It's strange having someone in his room – a guest. He's beginning to realize that outside of family and guards he's never had a friend here. Suddenly he feels exposed and self-conscious about how obviously boring his room is. Splitting his time here with the Summer Palace, he's never had the desire to bring back and forth any sort of cherished item – not like he has any to begin with. 

Artemi grabs a thicker coat for Patrick, knowing that he might appreciate every extra degree of warmth. He remembers to grab beanies for them, but instead Patrick chooses to wear the hunting hat Artemi recently bought at the disapproval of Grandmother. It is thickly lined with fur. Patrick makes the cheesiest of grins, wagging his eyebrows so excessively that Artemi bursts out laughing. 

"Let's go." Patrick buttons the high collar of the coat and ties the flaps of the hat together, so only his eyes peek through. It doesn't dons on him that they don't have gloves until Patrick takes hold of his hand and pulls him back into the game room, opening the doors to lead into the courtyard. 

There's already a substantial layer of snow over what was cleared by the house staff in the morning, but even so Patrick runs down the stairs, his momentum pushing him forward until he crashes into a bench and flops to the ground. All the while he's smiling and laughing. And it's contagious. 

Being there with Patrick, Artemi feels like he's seeing his home for the first time. Not the Winter Palace, but his home. The air both burns his lungs and fills him. He throws snowballs and runs head first into piles of snow. He yells into the night and laughs like it's the first time. And Patrick - he makes it feel so easy. Maybe Artemi forgets that they are royalty, and for one moment in time, they are two dumb boys playing in the snow. 

The following morning they wake up with a cold so intense that the First Family decide to stay an extra week while the doctor monitors Patrick's condition. The pair of them are a miserable bunch, but Artemi never regrets any of it – not that night or any day after. Because every day that week Patrick wanders the halls of the palace, drags Artemi into the game room and challenges him in every game. By the time someone finds them for lunch, they have three sets of blankets wrapped around themselves with their heads and hands poking out, lost in their own world amid coughs and sneezes, fast asleep leaning against each other. 

Over the years their friendship builds upon that night. It's the one thing he looks forward to – both the visits from the First Family and the trips to the White House. 

On one such visit, Artemi is tired of of the ball that his family is hosting, and Pat has had this unpleasant face since it began. So he grabs a bottle of whatever he can find, and they sneak off to his grandfather’s quarters – the only section of the building completely closed off to any guests, unless they will one day hold the title of tsar themselves. 

He spins around upon entering the room because finally, freedom. He takes a long swig from the bottle before handing it over to Pat and laying down on the floor. 

He lets out a contented sigh, enjoying the brief moment of just being with his best friend and not giving two fucks. Pat is still standing, bottle no closer to his mouth than when Artemi gave it to him.  

He sits down next to him, and Artemi turns him, realizing this may be more of a sitting down conversation.  

“What’s up with you tonight?” he pokes gently. Pat still won’t look at him, looking for words while he bites at the inside of his lip.  

Artemi muses over the night. Pat has been here every year for the festivities, regardless if his parents deemed it necessary appearance, he'd use it as an excuse to come visit. It's always the biggest party in the Catherine Palace, celebrating the end of winter, the beginning of spring. He's fourteen now, and Grandmother just can't wait to see which young royal to match him up with. He doesn't need his grandmother in that department nor is there any rush, seeing as he won't be Tsar for years. God willing. He vaguely remembers Pat staring at one girl his grandmother brought over. Artemi was polite and charming, and normally Pat would laugh at his efforts. The girl – the niece to the Duke of Bosnia – seemed more smitten with Pat than him, and while, yes, he has dibs if his grandmother has any say, that didn't hold Artemi back from making an offhanded comment about Prince Charming being too good for any girl. 

And now they're here. Pat looking like he is having a conversation with his own thoughts while Artemi plays with a shoelace that's come undone. He probably stepped on it on their way in here, his arm draped over Pat didn't give him much walking space. So he decides to take off his own shoes and then Pat's, and Pat doesn't seem to mind that Artemi is trying to play footsies with him. 

They've known each other years and Artemi's never known Pat to be so unsure of himself. He smiles, hoping it eases Pat and whatever it is he wants to say. As a last ditch effort, he tickles Pat's feet with his toe. Pat full-body flinches, but no laughs come. Artemi knows for a fact Patrick Kane is the most ticklish person in the world. He will run out of any room if he even senses someone trying to tickle him. 

Instead, Pat refocuses, taking a deep breath, ready to talk. Artemi scoots over until they're side-by-side, and that relaxes Pat marginally. 

"Your grandmother was showing you these girls, and then you said – that. And I know you were joking." He narrows his eyes at Artemi, quieting any apology he wanted to make. "It was as if I was seeing girls for the first time. Really seeing them."  

Pat's taken to rubbing the pad of his thumb in a circular pattern on his knee, pressing harder until it's white, needing something to do with his hands. It worries Artemi so much seeing him like this, so he takes Pat's hand, like Pat has done so many times for him. 

"It's – Girls are pretty, and you want to keep looking. But I'm not looking at them. I don’t want to look at them." His words tapper off, afraid of where this train of thought is leading. Because as he's saying it, he's realizing it himself. "Boys aren't pretty."  

"I think you're pretty." 

"Shut up, asshat." Pat shoves him half heartedly, but he is smiling now. "Boys aren't suppose to be pretty, but I still want to keep looking at them." Each word comes out slowly. The ending is a surprise to them both, but it doesn't phase Artemi. 

"Yeah, I know that." 

He glares. "How? Even I didn't know." 

Of course his English fails him now of all times, so he switches to Russian. "No, I mean, I've felt that. Sometimes." Because it's true. He does like girls, but sometimes they weren't the only ones holding his attention. 

Now, with Pat, he wonders. Still holding his hand, he uses his right to tilt Pat's chin to his liking before kissing him. While he's very aware that this is his best friend of many years, it doesn't take away that he's kissing a guy. Something he never thought he could do, and by the look Pat is giving him, he's not alone. He can feel his own smile being reciprocated, and it feels so good to kiss him again.   

"You just kissed me in your grandfather's study." 

"Fuck off," he groans. He does not want to think about his grandfather right this minute. "Don't act like you didn't like it." 

Artemi isn't too sure Pat understands the importance of this moment for him, but it is Pat. He can trust him with this secret because it is their secret. It isn't the first nor will it be the last. 


End file.
